


The Game

by sorrowfulcheese



Series: Sex, Lies, and Misanthropy [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Quickies, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese/pseuds/sorrowfulcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zaeed is not one for playing headgames. Other kinds, though, he can appreciate, and it's always a good idea to take pleasure when and where one can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game

    The surveillance laptop beeped softly, and he looked up to see Shepard making her way casually toward the cargo bay. He'd expected that, sooner or later. He'd hoped it wouldn't happen, but he had learned over the years to expect it.  
  
    Zaeed marked his place, shut his book and swiftly set it back in place on the bench. He rolled his shoulders, leaned casually against the wall, pretended to hardly notice her when she strolled through the door. She was in her duty uniform, her hair neatly up, looking for all the world as though she was down here just to take inventory of the cargo.  
  
    She paused and took note of the blades he'd tossed into the wall, but said nothing. She glanced at the laptop, scanned its rotating images, moved on. As she passed the crates Zaeed had arranged to his liking she drew her fingers along the side of one of them.  
  
    Zaeed narrowed his eyes as Shepard's gaze fell on Jessie, but he said nothing and Shepard looked up at him again, continued her calm approach, stopped with her toes not quite touching his, and smiled faintly. She smelled clean, like she'd just taken a shower. Not fruity or flowery like some women did after bathing; she smelled simply _clean_. "Shepard," Zaeed greeted her at last.  
  
    "Zaeed," she said. Her shoulders were relaxed, her hands loose at her sides. This was not what he had expected.  
  
     _We need to talk_ , was what he had expected. _Where do you see this going?_ was what he had expected.  
  
    Shepard simply stood in front of him, watching him with what he was sure was amusement.  
  
    "So," she said.  
  
    "So," he repeated.  
  
    "Need anything down here?" she wondered.  
  
    "Like what?"  
  
    "Anything," she said with a wry twitch of her lips.  
  
    Relief swept over him; he ought to have guessed Shepard wasn't like that. She was military, disciplined—a bit of a fucking goody-two-shoes, at times—not some starstruck teenager looking for the happy endings of the romantic vids.  
  
     _And she can kill a krogan with a sub-machine gun and her bare hands._  
  
    That memory made him squirm. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in order to mask it, folded his arms.  
  
    "I'm good," he assured her.  
  
    "I know that," Shepard chuckled. "But anyway, if you find you _do_ want something," she said, and shrugged, and let her words trail away. She slid toward the bench and Zaeed tensed, watching her.  
  
    She looked at him over her shoulder and flashed him a little smile.  
  
     _Fucking tease_ , he thought with delight.  
  
    Shepard turned her back to the bench, planted her palms on it and lifted herself to sit there, just out of arms' reach of Jessie. She swung her feet back and forth, childishly, and watched him.  
  
    He moved to stand in front of her and Shepard parted her knees, hooked her legs around his thighs. Zaeed reached behind her, ran a hand up to her hair and untwisted it, watched it uncoil and fall around her shoulders. He kept one hand at the back of her neck, used the other to unfasten the first few buttons of her uniform shirt.  
  
    He caught a glimpse of pale blue lace and it struck him as odd that she would wear such delicate things under her uniform. He tucked a hand beneath the dainty cup to catch her breast in his palm and wondered if she wore this sort of thing under armour. The mere thought sent the blood rushing away from his brain.  
  
    Shepard reached up to begin undoing his armour. With a fistful of her hair Zaeed pulled her head back, leaned down and closed his teeth on her throat. Shepard inhaled and sighed. "Easier than I thought," she murmured.  
  
    "Who, me?"  
  
    "Mm-hm."  
  
    Zaeed pulled his hand out of her shirt and slid it beneath her, lifted her against him. Shepard grabbed his shoulders and tightened her legs around his hips. Zaeed carried her across the room, past the cot, the crates, the knives in the wall. He reached behind Shepard and opened the door. She lifted her head.  
  
    With a swift and powerful movement he thrust her away from him and she landed lightly on her feet on the other side of the door. Zaeed grinned as the door slid shut on Shepard's astonished expression; he locked the door from the inside. He heard the lock buzz several times as Shepard tried to override it.  
  
    His omnitool vibrated, and he tapped it to answer the call.  
  
    "You'll get yours, Massani," Shepard growled.  
  
    "I look forward to it, sweetheart," he laughed, and turned back to the room. He cut off the feed and turned his attention to the surveillance laptop, watched as Shepard stomped away down the hall to the elevator, buttoning her shirt as she went. He sighed when she was out of view.  
  
    Once he was sure she was gone he took a few deep breaths to settle himself, picked up his book and sat down to resume reading.

* * *

    Shepard tapped him for some missions over the next couple of days, but she was strictly professional with him in front of the others. When the work was done she led the team back to the Normandy without any chatter.  
  
    She did not make her way down to the cargo bay again, and Zaeed found himself disappointed. He'd thought she'd had a little more fire in her—that she'd take his play in stride, and come after him again. It was too bad; he rather liked Shepard, and even if it was just a physical thing now and again, he would have enjoyed it.  
  
    But he had no time or inclination to worry about dancing around someone's sensitive feelings, and if Shepard's interest was that easily doused, they were better off fucking other people, he supposed. Shame, though. Shepard had a lovely body, and he would have liked to have played with her a little more. See what she was capable of. See what she liked.  
  
    He lay on his cot with his hands behind his head and he remembered her intake of breath, her flushed skin, when he'd pulled her hair; she'd liked that. Her nipple, when he'd cupped her breast, had been warm and hard. And back in the mercs' nest, that very first time, she'd been so goddamn _willing_ , so hot and eager—  
  
   _Christ_. Zaeed reached down to relieve his aching cock; with practised ease and a few cherished memories he got himself off swiftly, fumbled for a towel and wiped himself clean, tossed the towel across the room to a bin under the bench. He sighed and closed his eyes for a nap.  
  
    When he woke his stomach informed him it was time to eat, so he rose and dressed and left the cargo bay. The lights were dimmed in the ship's corridors, a simulation of night-time conditions. It was something EDI did, he understood, to assist the crew with their sleep/wake routines. Zaeed didn't need it. He slept anywhere and everywhere without trouble, ate when he was hungry, drank as much as he could pay for. It was a normal life for a merc and especially for a freelancer like himself; with no real home, it was really not optional.  
  
    He wondered if being on the Normandy too long would make him soft. Meals whenever he liked, the same bed every night, a routine paycheque with the promise of a bonus once this was all over.  
  
     _Goddamnit._  
  
    Zaeed sighed and made his way up to the mess. Gardner was off-duty, but there were always plenty of pre-made meals ready for the night shift crew. Zaeed found one he wanted to try—it was supposed to taste like lamb stew, which he'd never had. Probably never would. He heated it and carried the steaming dish to the table, sat down to begin to eat.  
  
    A hiss marked the opening of the main battery doors and Garrus, yawning, made his way to the mess. He retrieved his own meal from a special small refrigerator designated for dextro-amino foods, heated the dish and joined Zaeed at the table.  
  
    "Nice night for it," Zaeed said.  
  
    "Mm," Garrus agreed. "Up for some target practise soon?"  
  
    "Yeah, I think I might."  
  
    Garrus nodded and the two of them ate quietly. It was nice to have someone on board who didn't feel the need to chit-chat constantly.  
  
    Booted footsteps sounded and they both looked up to see Shepard turn the corner, having just come from the elevator. She stopped, looked from Garrus to Zaeed, spun on her heel and walked away. Zaeed returned his attention to his stew. It was tasty, he noted. Of course he wouldn't know what real lamb tasted like, but whatever this was, it was good.  
  
    "What was _that_ about?" Garrus wondered.  
  
    "She's pissed at me," Zaeed said with a shrug.  
  
    "What'd you do?"  
  
    "I didn't fuck her."  
  
    Garrus' mandibles flared as he tried not to spit out his food. When he had swallowed at last, he was still laughing. " _What?_ "  
  
    "I said I didn't fuck her." He grinned.  
  
    "I take it she asked?"  
  
    "More or less, yeah." He licked his spoon and looked at Garrus.  
  
    "I dunno, Zaeed," Garrus said, and dug into his food again. "Shepard's not used to not getting what she wants."  
  
    "Sort of what I was aiming for," Zaeed admitted. "She teased me, I teased her. You know." He shrugged again. "Didn't work, I guess."  
  
    "So you moved on," Garrus said, thoughtful. "She might not, you know. She's as stubborn as any krogan."  
  
    "That's for goddamn sure," Zaeed said with a sigh. "I expect ultimately it'll end with a bullet between my eyes."  
  
    "Well, you know, Shepard is a crack shot with a rifle. She'll make sure you go down quick and painless," Garrus said sympathetically.  
  
    "True enough." Zaeed stood. "Let me know when you want to get that practise in."  
  
    "Will do."  
  
    He stood and dropped his dishes in the sink, left Garrus in the mess and headed back down to the cargo bay.  
  
    As he approached the door he saw something small near the base of it, and hesitated; he scowled. It was a datapad. Who would leave a datapad there?  
  
     _Unless it was rigged._  
  
    Who on the Normandy would rig a datapad? More to the point, why?  
  
    He crouched and stared at the thing for a moment, then decided he was being far too paranoid. He approached the door, stooped and picked up the datapad. There was only one sentence on the screen:  
  
   _I took something of yours._  
_—Shepard_  
  
    Alarmed, Zaeed slammed a fist on the door to open it, stormed immediately to his bench to find Jessie, lying exactly where he had left her, entirely untouched. He looked around at his trophies; they were all there. "Shit," he grumbled. "Fucking with my head, are you, Shepard?" He tossed the datapad down on the bench. "Well, that's not a game this old dog is willing to play." He reached for his book and sat down on the cot to pick up where he'd left off reading the night before. He stretched out his legs and relaxed, comfortable with his belly full. He reached up without looking for the whiskey bottle that he kept hidden just behind a crate at the head of the cot.  
  
    His hand found nothing but air and Zaeed looked up with a frown. Realisation dawned on him and he chuckled.  
  
    "Goddamn," he said, and shut his book. Shepard knew how to play after all. "EDI," he snapped.  
  
    "Yes, Zaeed."  
  
    "Where's Shepard?"  
  
    "Shepard is in her cabin."  
  
    "Right."  
  
    "Shall I advise her that you wish to speak with her?"  
  
    "No." He left the book on the cot and stalked out of the cargo bay to the men's washroom. He washed his hands and face, smoothed back his hair, brushed his teeth and grimaced at himself in the mirror. "Let's go, old man," he said wryly to his reflection, and headed out again, into the elevator and up to Shepard's cabin.  
  
    He touched the lock and it beeped, whirred, and the doors slid open. Zaeed hesitated just a moment before he stepped inside. The lights were low; from hidden speakers in the room he could hear soft music. "Shepard?"  
  
    "Over here."  
  
    He moved gingerly past the workstation— _where did Shepard get all those ship models?_ he wondered—glanced at the big bed, and spied Shepard on the couch in the corner. She sat with her arms stretched out over the back of the couch, her ankles crossed and one heel resting on the low coffee table. In one hand she held Zaeed's bottle. Her hair was still up; she wore an old N7 tee, faded by too many washes, lacy pink panties, and nothing else. As he came into her view she raised the bottle and took a deep swallow from it, licked her lips, her eyes on his.  
  
    Despite the flush he felt rising up over his chest, Zaeed shook his head. "That's a sipping whiskey," he told her. "Very expensive, you know."  
  
    "It's also very good," Shepard told him. She held the neck of the bottle in her fingertips, let it dangle precariously.  
  
    "How much have you drunk?"  
  
    "Not sure," she said. She lifted the bottle and eyed it. "How much was there?"  
  
    "It was at least half full."  
  
    "Not anymore."  
  
    He folded his arms. "Did you invite me up here to torment me by drinking my whiskey," he wondered, "or what?"  
  
    "I didn't invite you up here at all, Zaeed." Shepard tilted the bottle and drank again, watched him with half-lidded eyes. "Seems to me like you just sauntered on up here of your own accord to accuse me of drinking your whiskey."  
      
    "Drinking my whiskey while sitting around in your damn pink knickers," he growled, and tossed off his gauntlets. Shepard laughed at that and watched him as he broke down his armour and dropped it, piece by piece, on the floor. When he was down to just his underthings he lifted a foot and worked it between Shepard's knees; she parted her legs and he stepped between them, crouched on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. He smoothed his hands up over her thighs, ducked his head between her legs and pressed his tongue to the pretty lace, kissed it and looked up at Shepard's face. She watched him with a triumphant little smile. "You knew I'd come for it," Zaeed said. She chuckled and took another pull from the bottle, swallowed and exhaled. Zaeed took the bottle from her, checked its level and shook his head. "This is expensive shit to be drinking down like that, Shepard." He drank and savoured the warmth in his mouth, his throat, his belly, then set the bottle safely out of the way.  
  
    "I knew you'd come for it," she said at last. "I knew you'd come if I took something else, too, but I didn't think it would be quite playing the game to take Jessie."  
  
    Zaeed licked his lower lip. "You're goddamn right it wouldn't be," he informed her. "That gun is not for you to play with."  
  
    Shepard leaned forward, slid off the couch so she straddled his legs, and with her palms she patted his biceps. "These ones are though, right?" She laughed as though she'd made a wonderful joke. Her breath was sweet with the whiskey she'd drunk.  
  
    He grinned. "You're a little hammered, Shepard."  
  
    "Not yet I haven't been," she informed him solemnly. "So take me to bed."  
  
    "No down and dirty on the floor?" he wondered.  
  
    "I'd love it, but there's no room," she said. With one hand she pulled the elastic of his shorts away from his body; the other hand slid confidently inside, wrapped firmly around his cock, caressed him to full erection. Zaeed inhaled, leaned back against the table and realised it was welded to the floor.  
  
    "Shit," he muttered. "This thing doesn't move."  
  
    "I told you," she said, and gave him a gentle tug that sent a tickle through his entire body. "Take me to bed."  
  
    "Right you are."  
  
    She released him, yanked down his shorts as he stood, and he stepped out of them. He caught her wrist in one hand, dragged her to the bed and tossed her down. Shepard bounced a little as she landed and she laughed, and as Zaeed climbed on the bed to join her she wriggled out of her panties and flung them across the room.  
  
    He crawled between her legs, leaned down to kiss her belly, her hips, her thighs—no matter how tough she appeared in armour, and despite a few scars here and there, her skin was smooth and soft, the way a woman's should be. She tasted like—  
  
     _the first time he had left Sol to travel to another system_  
  
    —clean water and fresh air, and he could not resist sinking his teeth into the softest part of her inner thigh. Shepard arched and clamped her legs around his head, and Zaeed pried her knees apart, pressed his mouth between her legs, savoured the salty-sweetness of her. Shepard caught his head with both hands; he reached up and laced his fingers through hers, pulled her hands away and held them tightly. She whimpered a protest but did not fight him, raised her legs and rested them over his shoulders.  
      
    He kissed her thighs again, tongued her lightly, made her shiver. With just the tip of his tongue he parted her lips, teased her clitoris just for a moment. He pressed his whole face against her again, felt her clitoris brush the bridge of his nose as he slipped his tongue inside her, teased and tickled, eagerly lapped at the moisture that fairly streamed out of her and Shepard inhaled, tightened her fingers on his hands, thrust up against his face.  
  
    Zaeed lifted his head, licked his lips with gusto, released her hands and reached up to wipe his chin. Shepard squirmed to sit up, her face flushed. "What?" she panted. "Something wrong?"  
  
    He chuckled. "Turn over." He patted her hip, coaxing, and Shepard twisted obediently to lie on her belly, hips raised in eager invitation. Zaeed lifted her a little higher, stuck out his tongue and caught several droplets that fell from her skin before he drew the tip of his tongue along the length of her. Shepard shuddered and made a soft sound. He opened his mouth and engulfed her once more, used his lips and tongue to massage her with a slow and deliberate rhythm. He had to swallow several times and still his chin was soon dripping again, and Shepard squirmed and whimpered and reached down to touch herself. Zaeed caught her wrist.  
  
    "No," he said, and kissed her thigh. "Tell me what you want me to do."  
  
    "I don't know," she breathed. "Something. Anything."  
  
    He closed his mouth over the soft swollen folds, and sucked gently. Shepard made inarticulate noises and reached down with her other hand. Zaeed caught that one, too. "Shepard," he said, "tell me what you want."  
  
    "Just finish me," she groaned.  
  
    "You're an impatient little bitch," he told her with a chuckle, and he touched her clitoris with his tongue. Shepard yelped and her body spasmed, but it was not enough for her and she made another frustrated sound. Zaeed released her hands, used his knees to push hers aside, flattened his hands on her ass and admired the curves of it. He leaned down to kiss both cheeks, kissed the small of her back; with just a little guidance he slipped easily inside her, and Shepard exhaled.  
  
    "See, this is what I wanted," she told him.  
  
    "Sometimes a girl just needs a good rogering, is that it?" he laughed.  
  
    "Why not?" she countered, breathless.  
  
    "Because sometimes it's nice to—take your time. Do other things." As he rocked slowly with her he slid his hands up the bed toward Shepard's head so he lay full length atop her with his belly hot against her back. He rested his weight on one elbow and with his free hand untied her hair, let it fall around her head, twined his fingers into it and made a fist; Shepard's whole body reacted in a wave from her head to her toes and she made a guttural, pleasured sound.  
  
    "Harder," she whispered, and pushed up and back against him. He kissed her neck, focused on his breathing, kept his tempo slow and steady despite her demand. He worked his other hand down between her legs, stroked the neat thatch of black hair for a moment before he separated his fingers and flattened his hand against her; his cock rubbed between his second and third fingers with each thrust as he used his palm to create a complementary rhythm for Shepard's benefit.  
  
    Shepard lifted her head, her breath fast and shallow. He tightened his grip on her hair so she could not lower her head again. "Zaeed—"  
  
     _"Commander Shepard?"_ That was the intercom.  
  
    Shepard gulped. "Kelly?"  
  
    There was an uneasy silence over the intercom. With the hand beneath her Zaeed quickened his pace, used the base of his thumb to massage her; Shepard stiffened and snatched a pillow to suffocate a sudden cry. Zaeed thrust a little faster, kept his hand pressed hard against her and Shepard bucked beneath him, twisted and shook, her face buried in the pillow which did not entirely silence her.  
  
     _"Commander,"_ Kelly said, cautious, _"is everything all right?"_  
  
    Shepard's body tightened again, her muscles rippled around him and Zaeed could no longer concentrate. Her barely suppressed moans made his balls tighten, and he came in a flood of sweet cool release. He could not stifle an involuntary sound in his throat as he continued to push into her, slower and with less urgency; at last they both sagged down to the bed.  
  
    "We're good, Kelly," Shepard gasped. "It's good. I'm good. All good. Do you need me for something?"  
  
    Another uneasy silence. _"It can definitely wait, Commander."_ The intercom clicked off.  
  
    Shepard relaxed. "Fuck," she sighed. "That was just what I needed."  
  
    He chuckled and rolled, pulled her with him so he was spooned behind her, untangled his hand from her hair and tucked his arm beneath her head. "Was it all right, then?"  
  
    "Not confident in your skills, Massani?" she wondered, amused.  
  
    "Not worried about that," he assured her. "But what works for one woman doesn't always work for another."  
  
    "I will let you know when something doesn't work." She yawned. "Was it my imagination or do you have tattoos down there too?"  
  
    "Not your imagination," he told her drowsily.  
  
    "When did you get them?"  
  
    "Before you were born."  
  
    "I want to see." She shifted as though to sit up.  
  
    Zaeed held her in place, kissed her shoulder. "Shh. Later." He reached over Shepard to grab the coverlet, yanked it over both of them. Shepard squirmed back to get comfortable against him, and Zaeed tucked his arm around her middle, slid a hand up under her shirt to cup one lace-covered breast. He hadn't had a chance to play with the girls, he mused.  Next time, he supposed. He was pretty sure there would be a next time. He'd have to show Shepard how to take her time. Zaeed closed his eyes.  
  
    When he woke up Shepard was gone, and he stretched luxuriously. It had been a long time since he'd slept in a big comfortable bed; too long. He listened but Shepard was not in the cabin. He took his time getting up, used her shower and scrubbed himself thoroughly, found his clothes where he'd dropped them, and dressed leisurely. He even made the bed; considerate guests were the kind that got invited back, after all.  
  
    He checked beside the couch where he'd left the whiskey bottle but it was gone; it had been moved to the table and was now entirely empty. Zaeed sighed. He would have to order another two bottles. Maybe three; one to share with Shepard. Had to teach the girl how to drink whiskey properly, after all.  
  
    He cast about the cabin, spotted the armoire and crossed to it. Inside he found a bounty of trophies: Shepard's lacy underthings. It seemed she had no other kind, which pleased him; it meant she did in fact wear such things under her armour. He selected a frilly pink pair of panties, held them up to examine them and smiled to himself; he folded them neatly and tucked them into one of his ammo pouches, made a mental note not to forget they were there, lest he find himself one day short on ammo. He was pretty sure flinging Shepard's knickers at the Collectors, even at high velocity, wouldn't be particularly effective. He closed the drawer and, satisfied, made his way toward the door. He paused at the desk, grinned, picked up a datapad and tapped out a message:  
  
   _Now I have something of yours._  
_—Z._  
  
    He carried the pad back to the bed, lay it down on one of the pillows. At last he left the room, took the elevator to the crew deck, and had Gardner cook up a mess of bacon for his breakfast.  
  
    After breakfast he joined Garrus for target practise.


End file.
